


In which Gil attempts to communicate

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: Always Send Knives [8]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, I use the spelling of Seffie's name from the scene directory, Paris hijinks, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 16:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: It goes about as well as you imagine. Merry Christmas, have some suffering.





	In which Gil attempts to communicate

Tarvek walked with his hands in his pockets, one shoulder hunched as though against a strong wind. He tried to maintain a brave façade, though. Every time he caught Gil watching him, he lifted his head and straightened his spine.

He looked absolutely crushed.

By the time they had walked the short blocks to Café Insomnie, Gil ached for him. The cafe bustled with life, with students coming and going, just as it always did. Gil held the door open. Tarvek lifted his chin and strode through.

Gil glanced around, assessing the flow of patrons, and he nudged Tarvek toward a table by the wall. It afforded a full view of the entire dining area, as well as both entrances and more than half of the windows. Tarvek followed his lead with neither complaint nor argument, an aberration which spoke silent volumes to his troubled state of mind. Even as a child, he had never meekly trailed along after Gil.

It was tremendously unnerving.

They sat, and Tarvek thumbed a menu without much interest. Gil ordered coffee for both of them, plus a plate of assorted pastries. Then awkward silence fell over their table, hulking there between them for the entire five minutes it took for the coffee to arrive. In the greatest show of enthusiasm he had mustered all evening, Tarvek pounced on his.

Gil watched him closely while stirring sugar into his own coffee. Whitening knuckles. A slight tremor of one hand. Refusal to make eye contact. Something had shaken Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and badly. Family, he had said. He had once rather vividly described his family as a basket of snakes in an unbalanced hydraulic lift. Back then, Gil had had naïve hopes that Tarvek would break free of their influence, but today he could only hope that Tarvek himself was not beyond repair.

Tarvek's hand came to rest on the tabletop, not too far from Gil's. He could reach out and grab it, like he used to do when they were children, but how would Tarvek react? Would he squeeze Gil's fingers, as he once did? Or would he snatch his hand away? Would he sneer in disdain of so childish an offer of comfort?

Gil sipped his coffee.

The arrival of their pastries forestalled his internal struggle. Tarvek glanced up. "Merci," he said, more muscle memory than intent. An ache like a tight iron band gripped Gil around the chest. What could he do?

Tarvek studied the pastries with a little interest, which Gil took as a good sign. The assortment varied by day, by what the cafe had on hand, but he liked to sample one of everything, if possible. Tarvek frowned, then rotated the plate to put all of the _pain au chocolat_ directly in front of himself. A wave of relief washed over Gil. Tarvek was not so far gone he would refuse chocolate.

Maybe he should try for conversation?

"Family can be difficult."

Tarvek's head snapped up, and his eyebrows drew downward in a sharp accusation. "How would _you_ know?" A look of horror flashed across his face, which he quickly hid behind a long gulp of his coffee.

"I, uh, I've heard," Gil said, internally kicking himself for his careless words. He watched Tarvek watching him, and he dreaded that something between them might be irrevocably broken. "Anyway," he ventured, somehow forcing words past the dryness in his throat, "I'm, um, really s—"

"Oh, _here_ you are!"

Sorry. I'm sorry. For everything.

Tarvek picked up a pastry and took a sullen bite. He pointedly looked away from the redhead who pushed through the crowd with dignity and determination in equal measure. Family, Gil supposed. "Who is—"

"Grandmama is ready to _hang_ you for disappearing with Descartes, you know." Unbidden, the newcomer pulled up a chair, and she swept gracefully into it. "Even Varpa couldn't find you."

"Seffie, please."

"And here you are, having coffee and pastries with—"

"Gilgamesh Holzfäller," Tarvek interrupted, meeting Gil's curious stare with resignation. "This is Xerxsefina von Blitzengaard." He swallowed a shadow of a grimace with a gulp of coffee.

Gil smiled and said some polite nonsense, which seemed to please Seffie. If he was tremendously lucky, she would never know how he had hoped that he might finally be meeting Tarvek's beloved sister. He remembered the two of them laughing together over Tarvek's letters to Anevka, details of their exploits sent back home to amuse and horrify. With a pang, he forced himself back to the present.

"But no one could confirm that she hadn't killed you," Seffie was saying to Tarvek, "and everyone _knows_ how Cartographers are—"

"I don't," Gil objected, but they both ignored him.

"—so when nobody could contact Fyodor—"

"Fyodor's dead," Tarvek said. His voice fell flat, and for a fleeting moment, unspeakable pain traced deep lines across his face. Whoever this Fyodor was, he had meant much to Tarvek. Gil's heart wrenched, and he wanted to reach across the table and hug Tarvek. He did nothing.

Seffie stared at him, openly scandalized. "See, they're beyond trusting, beyond even common use, and—"

"Seffie," Tarvek said, "stop."

"I have to take you back to Grandmama. She'll send me to the limestone pits if I let you galavant off on your own."

"The quarries have been closed for centuries," Gil said, earning a sour look from both of them. He concealed his embarrassment behind a sip of coffee. "Or so I heard."

Seffie plucked a profiterole from the plate, and she studied it as though rendering judgment. "Hm," she said, by way of dismissal. "We'd best get going."

Tarvek lifted his chin stubbornly. "I'm having coffee."

"Oh, _really_ —"

"And then," Tarvek continued, "Gil and I have coursework to do. The University is as safe as anywhere in Paris, Grandmother's house included." Arguing seemed to breathe some life back into him, but perhaps he merely pretended.

Seffie gave a haughty sniff. "Coursework already?"

"I don't suppose Tweedle has done even a minute of homework in his life."

"Well, no. He considers such things pedestrian." Seffie eyed Tarvek with an air of speculation. "I guess we're finished here."

"I guess we are." Tarvek watched Seffie closely as she took her leave. When she had gone, he scowled down at his coffee. "She's bound to have me kidnapped now," he scoffed quietly.

"What… is that normal?" Gil tried to think back to all Tarvek's stories of his family and their antics. He had thought them exaggerated. Tarvek shrugged, and the life seemed to wash out of him again. Leaning forward, Gil lowered his voice. "Look," he said, "whatever it is you're mixed up in, I can help—"

"You?" Tarvek snapped, his gaze sharpening. "No, no, this is beyond you." He forced a bitter smile. "Even if you are in advanced biology courses."

Gil could not bear to let the matter lie. "Please," he insisted, reaching toward Tarvek's hand. Tarvek flinched away, took a long sip of coffee, cradling the cup between both hands. "I am not without resources." _Let me protect you_.

A profound sorrow bleeding away his bitterness, Tarvek shook his head. "I've been mixed up in this mess since the day I was born. There's no helping it."

Gil could not work out a way to persuade Tarvek otherwise without revealing his own most closely guarded secret. His throat constricted and his chest ached.

He finished his coffee in silence.


End file.
